Permanent
by Johnny North
Summary: When Steve is plagued by violent reoccurring nightmares about the '40s, Tony must look past his own selfishness and pay a price to help find the cause and a cure that will put his lover's restless nights to a stop. Based on the song "Permanent" by David Cook. Tony/Steve, Superhusbands, Stony.
1. I Won't Let Go

The nightmares were reoccurring.

Like plagues, they dug their sharp claws into his sleeping brain, rattling and filling it with irrational fears and painful memories. They'd strangle at his sanity, leaving him terrified, frozen, and dripping with sweat in the middle of the night. But what was the scariest part about these nightmares?

Not the vividness…. no, not the morbidity. Not even the heart-stopping sickening visions they held. The scariest part was that, after waking up, Steven couldn't even remember a single second of them.

* * *

"You're up early." Tony walked into his spacious living room clad in stained lounging plaid pajama bottoms. He spoke monotonously, barely making eye contact with Steve and he lethargically made his way into the kitchenette.

"It happened again," Steve spoke almost inaudibly, staring ahead unblinkingly to a wall that was blank aside from some framed records of bands he'd never heard of. "That thing. It happened again last night."

"_Hmm_?" Tony looked up from the bag of coffee beans he had just retrieved from a cabinet. "Oh, yeah. Right. The dreams."

"I'm starting to get a little worried…" Steve finally shifted his eyes, leaving the spot on the wall he'd be eyeing so carefully now unsupervised. "This is the third time this week."

"Fourth." Tony was pouring the beans into a coffee maker.

When Steve returned a 'what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about' glance, he concluded, "Sorry, I forgot to tell you. It happened Thursday too."

"You forgot to tell me?" Steve twisted his body around on the couch he had been perched on for the last hour or so. "Tony… how do you just _forget_ to tell someone something like that?" His voice held both anger at his friend for neglecting to inform him of such an important matter and fear for the fact that the episode had occurred once more than he'd originally believed.

"I didn't really think it was a big deal," Tony shrugged, the coffee maker now making its familiar loud bubbling sound that drove Steve crazy.

"Not a big deal?" Steve had now turned complete around, his arms folding over the top of the couch. "You're telling me, that the guy you're sleeping with wakes up next to you at three in the morning, trembling and screaming, and you think it's nothing to be concerned about?"

"You forgot crying."

"For Godssake, Stark! Can you be serious for once? I honestly think there's something wrong with me…"

"There's nothing wrong with you." Tony rolled his eyes as he found himself sitting down next to both his roommate and, more commonly, guilty pleasure.

Before placing a delicate hand on the other man's knee, he consoled, "Look. You're just having some bad dreams, there's nothing to be afraid of. Steve, we were fighting to the _death_ only a few months ago. I think you should be concerned if you _weren't _having nightmares."

True, it _had_ been only four months since the Avengers initiative was assembled and put into action. Four months since Tony Stark, the brilliantly minded and filthy rich narcissist had met Steven Rogers, the legendary super-solider who might as well have been made of glass. Four months since the Asgardian aliens arrived.

However, it had been only two months since the patriotic captain and metal-suited man began living together. Okay, maybe 'living together' wasn't a favored term between the two of them. Perhaps 'Steve constantly stayed the night' was a better way of putting it.

Either way, that also happened to be the time these episodes began to occurring.

Tony could never forget the first one. It had happened about five days, give or take a few, since Steve had officially claimed the left side of the his bed. Somewhere between midnight and two in the morning, a sort of yelling noise coming from right next to him had woken Tony. With his heart beginning to beat a little faster than normal, he thought Steve had seen or heard something that startled him. But when he sat up to take a closer look, his curiosity was confronted by an unsettling image.

The LED light from his arc reactor acted nicely as a torso flashlight, and he was able to see a sobbing Steve through the blue haze.

"Steve? Hey, what's the matter?"

No response.

The ex-soldier was sitting up completely straight, cheeks red and moist, with eyes that were closed firmly shut with a gaping frown to match. He clutched onto a pillow, as if for dear life itself, and slowly rocked back and forth, crying hysterically.

"_Steven_. What happened? What the hell is wrong with you?"

No response. The only thing able to exit the other man's mouth were periodic wailing screams that shattered as they hit the bedroom's cold air with a crash.

Tony had sat up completely straight, shivering when the cool atmosphere hit his naked chest. He extended both arms, hoping to consult his friend and companion.

"Calm down," he tried hushing, but when he was finally able to grab hold on the burning body next to him, he was pushed down, two fists now clenching his shoulder and hip.

"It-it is" Steve could barely speak, his words coming out like chokes and eyes still shut tightly as his buried his face into Tony's chest. "It's so-so c-cold."

Unaware of what to do, Tony awkwardly patted a hand on his bedmate's back. 'There-there' the motion said, 'don't fret little soldier boy, I'm here.'

"What's cold?" He said out loud instead. "Steve? Are you dreaming about-"

"Don't let go!" Came out as an ear-splitting screech accompanied by a very firm-tightening grasp to the shoulders. Tony took a mental note to never underestimate a scientifically enhanced war-hero's grip.

The outburst had settled back down into whimpers and mewls until finally, Steve Rogers, living legend World War II hero, was breathing normally at a slow pace, eyes resting and peaceful, body asleep.

All Tony was able to do was sit there in awe. He was not only beyond confused, but a little bit frightened, for he had never seen a side of the captain like this before. Instead of pushing him aside, ignoring him, or trying to find a way out like he normally would, Tony just held onto his other firmly and intimately, quietly repeating, "I won't. I promise. I won't let go."

"It's not from that though," Steve had said, looking at his companion with misunderstood eyes. "It's not because of… New York, or Loki, or any of that Avengers crap. It's something different… I-"

"How could you possibly know?" Tony's eyes held indifference. "You said it yourself, you don't even remember what you're dreaming about."

"Then why aren't you having nightmares? You were there too."

Bringing his hand back, Tony raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose you're more empathic than me. Congrats, but quite honestly I think we could've established that without all this drama. You know, when I was in first grade, I was the first kid to ever be awarded the 'doesn't play well with others' phone call-"

"Tony turn that stupid thing off!" Steve interrupted, yelling with eyes clenched shut. He was talking about the coffee maker.

The bearded man stood up, taking his sweet time to reach the counter-top appliance. "I want to see a doctor," he heard from behind him.

"A doctor…" Tony pondered the idea while pressing the 'off' switch. "Like… a psychiatrist?"

"Yes." Steve had finally stood up, stretching the muscles that ached from a long night of tossing and turning. "I need help, Tony."

Although he didn't agree with this statement, Tony didn't deny it either. Here stood an incredible man. Tacky as his 'mighty hero' costume may have been or how outdated his ideas and language were, he was in no way weak or overrated. His strength, both mental and physical, had always impressed Tony. Though he'd most likely never admit it.

To see such a brave person with so much to live for act so delicately and vulnerable made Tony realize the problem haunting Steve's subconscious was a bigger threat than he was allowing to let on. The least he could do was give the guy what he asked for.

"Alrighty, then. A psychiatrist you will get." He poured a hot cup of freshly made coffee into a mug that read 'Stark Industries' on it. "Want some?"

Wincing at the drink, the captain replied a polite 'no', and then retired back into the bedroom in order to catch up on the sleep he had missed.

* * *

"Okay, lets review." Tony had a phonebook open on his lap and was busy taking notes on which doctors seemed the most qualified or least shady. He only wanted to hire the best. "Who were in the Beatles?"

Steve, sitting on the sofa opposite him, drummed his fingers along his left knee. "Uh… Ringo Starr…"

"Yes." Tony licked the tip of the pen and turned the page.

"John… Lennon."

"Good, two for two. You're on a role Ken Jennings."

"Ken Jennings?" Steve asked, looking up from his clasped hands in confusion.

"He's, uh… um never mind." Tony mumbled, then turned his attention back down to the heavy open book in his lap.

"Okay so… Ringo Starr, John Lennon, Paul McCartney," he counted on his fingers as he spoke each famous name "… and George Harrington?"

"Har_rison_, but close enough, I'll let it slide for effort."

Steve smiled to himself as if he had just won a game show, and took a sip out of his can of Coca-Cola with pride.

"Alright…" Tony said, adjusting more comfortably in his lavish chair. "So I've narrowed it down to about three people. Now, this one," he pointed to the second name on his handwritten notepad which read 'Robin Orwell'. "She had the best reviews. _But_ she lives the farthest away. Now, I'd like for them to come _here_, and I don't know if she'd charge for travelling-"

"Why?" Steve's question interrupted.

"Huh?"

"Why do you want them to come _here_?"

"I want to show off the place," Tony replied with a face resembling that of pleading innocence, to which Steve just subconsciously rolled his eyes in frustration. "Anyway, she specializes in recovery therapy. Then there's this Jordan Garner guy, who, quite frankly, creeps me out a little from his picture. However, he lives right on the same avenue, so that'd be convenient."

"What about the third guy?" Steve had gotten up, and paced the room until he stood behind the sitting man. He wrapped his arms around the other's neck while reading over his shoulder.

"Uh… that'd be Mr. Cole Crowe. It says here that he's won a bunch of awards and has experience helping people overcome their fears."

Steve nodded, sneaking a peck on Tony's neck in the process.

"Pick your poison, Rogers."

Well… I say we dial up each one and speak to all of them," Steve turned his head slightly, although he was already uncomfortably close to Tony so his nose was hitting him dead in the cheek. "We can tell them the conditions and then we'll see how willing or capable each one is to helping me."

"Helping _us_," Tony corrected. "I haven't a gotten a good night's sleep in weeks. I need this as much as you do."

"You're an asshole." Steve breathed on his neck, and playfully laid a punch on his companion's shoulder. "Do you have the numbers written down?" He was reaching for the phone on the coffee table.

"Yeah, here's the first one, Garner's." Tony placed the lined paper close to his face and read off the number.

They repeated this game three times; recite a string of numbers, punch those numbers into the digital phone, wait for some rings, hear a voice, ask some questions.

Eventually, through the few short interviews and explanations, it was down to that Robin Orwell. Steve was the final decider though, and since Robin had easily agreed to do sessions at the tower, he figured she was their best shot.

"So, would you mind, in a hundred words or less, explaining why you need this psychiatric help?" She had asked over the phone after formal introductions were exchanged.

Steve, scratching his head while Tony listened in on speakerphone answered, "It's weird. I wake up in the middle of the night and, or so I'm told, have unconscious fits and, uh, breakdowns."

"Hmm, I see. Is there someone I can talk to who has witnessed or can describe these events? A spouse or girlfriend perhaps?" The professional yet not unfriendly voice said through the receiver.

"Yeah, he's right here," Steve had handed the phone to Tony, still not completely aware of how speakerphone worked.

"Hello? This is Dr. Robin Orwell, to whom am I speaking with?"

"Ee-yeah, hey there, Doc," Tony shot Steve a glare that read 'I wasn't exactly planning on having to speak on the phone as your boyfriend, dickhead' while biting his lower lip. "My name is Tony Stark, uh-"

"Tony Stark? … as in… The Iron Man, Tony Stark?" her voice had slightly picked up on pace, volume, and pitch.

It was kind of ironic. For so long, when introducing himself, people responded with 'Tony Stark? Are you by any chance related to the famous Howard Stark?'. Finally it had changed and become 'Tony Stark? As in the billionaire weapon-manufacturer running Stark Industries, Tony Stark?'. More recently, however, it had become 'You mean Tony Stark as in Iron Man?'.

"Uh, yes. And you're welcome by the way." Tony wasn't too gifted at speaking on the phone with other people.

"Yes, um, well then. Mr. Stark, can you describe Mr. Rogers', quote 'episodes', he's been having at night?"

The faint static that came through the receiver made it a little hard for Tony to think straight. "Well…" he started, "He'll usually, uh, sit up straight in bed. Sometimes his eyes are open and sometimes they're closed shut… but he's never awake. And he starts to cry and breathe heavily and sob all over the place."

Steve had been leaning against the bar, one leg propped up behind him. His arms were crossed and he listened carefully to his friend's description. It was hard for him to imagine doing all these things.

"Mm-hmm, yes, go on." She sounded as if she were taking notes.

"And uh… he'll usually hold onto something. Like a pillow or the blanket. And he'll just sit there and sort of… yell."

"Yelling how? Does he say anything Mr. Stark? Is it a scream? Or more of a wail, perhaps?"

"M-mostly just screaming… I mean to say, he's not too quiet about it." Tony walked closer to Steve, and placed a few fingers softly over his crossed arms. "Sometimes he says things, and I think they have to do with his past."

"You never told me th-" Steve said in a loud whisper, furrowing his eyebrows, but had been cut off by a harsh 'Shh!' from Tony who was still talking on the phone.

"And uh… he'll shake and start to toss and turn. Then he'll calm down, and then he goes right back to sleep."

"Interesting…" the woman's voice purred on the other end. "Well, I'm sure I can help you and your… erm… friend, Mr. Stark. And it's been an honor talking to you. Would you like me to stop by tomorrow? That way we can all sit and chat and dig deeper into the details?"

"Uh, um, yeah. Yes. Tomorrow sounds good. Tomorrow's very, very doable."

"I'll need a time and address, please. Nothing before noon and nothing after nine."

"Three?" Tony asked, to both the phone and Steve who was beginning to seem much less interested in the conversation than initially. "And I think you'd know where to find me."

They exchanged affirmatives and goodbyes, Steve throwing his own ones over Tony's shoulder for good measure, and then didn't speak of that matter for the rest of the day.

That night, however, the vicious night criminal had wreaked havoc once again. Tony had his eyes closed; the blue hue of the arc reactor humming under the bed sheet, as he slowly began to drift off into a comfortable state of sleep.

Right as he eyelids began to heavy, a very angry-sounded groan pulled him out of the dream-like state. This groan was then continued by whimpers, and a hand shot itself towards Tony, grasping onto his wrist with a hold stronger than chains.

The sobbing was quieter this time, but equally painful to listen to.

Tony turned to the man next to him with sympathy. His soft eyes looked into Steve's closed ones with a message of hopelessness.

Quite frankly, he wanted to slap him awake. He wanted to turn the lights on, splash water on his face, or hit him… what ever it would take to stop this. He hoped for a quick way out that would allow him some peaceful rest.

But he knew that was wrong.

So instead of trying to shut him up, instead of moving to a different bedroom, and instead of ignoring him, Tony pulled Steve closer.

He could feel the war hero shaking violently as the wrist Steve's hands had a tight grasp around was replaced by Tony's entire upper body. He held on to him with a grip that could've killed a man.

"… It's okay," Tony whispered, now relaxing himself once more to the sound of his lover's pain-filled tears. He could feel the salty warm droplets smear against his chest, and to the irregular pulsating body that came with every gasp for air, he crooned, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I won't let go."


	2. I'll Stick With Him

"I'll be honest," the thirty-something-year-old brunette woman dressed in a designer business suit and glasses said as she scanned the open complex the two men called home. "When you said you were Tony Stark I didn't completely believe you."

"You'd be surprised how often I get that." Tony had been mixing himself a drink by the bar. He offered one to the doctor, but she declined.

"_Steven! _Get your star-spangled ass _out here_. Robin Orwell is here to see you." Tony called out to the empty apartment, when the patient hadn't come out to greet the therapist. His voice bounced and echoed off the tall walls as it boomed.

"… Hold on just a sec," Robin said slowly as she put her bag on the bar and placed her weight atop one of the barstools. "This Steven we're referring wouldn't happen to be-"

"Good afternoon, ma'am," a polite voice came from behind her mid-sentence. She turned to see Steve, shifting his weight subconsciously while wearing a checkered button-down shirt and suspenders that looked like they could've come straight from Tony's closet of hand-me-downs.

"Ah," Robin exhaled under her breath, her eyes went wide and she could feel her mouth crack slightly open, the brightly red lipstick parting. "Well now it all makes sense."

Steve had a familiar face of confusion, but didn't bother to ask what the woman was referring to. "So," he said instead, "do you think you'll be able to figure out what's wrong with me?"

"Sweetie," the doctor stood up, leaving her bag behind her, and placed a gentle hand on the muscular man's shoulder. "I think I already have."

The two 'roommates' looked at each other, trying to figure out what the other had missed. _Do you know how she really figured it out so quickly? _They each thought. _Because I sure as hell didn't. _

Confronted by the silence, Ms. Orwell realized some explaining was required. "Steven," she said, returning her manicured hand back to her side, "Have you ever heard of a little something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"_Please_," Tony answered from behind the bar. "He doesn't even know what an ATM machine is."

After giving the sarcastic man a harsh glare, Steve looked back at Ms. Orwell (whom was much shorter than he was, so he had to bend his neck down) and replied, "No, miss. I can't say I do."

"Well then," the woman strutted to a more comfortable seat than the barstool, her heels clicking as they hit the hard floor, until she sat down comfortably with her legs crossed on a living room couch. "PTSD is a… um… disorder of the mind that comes from anxiety. Do you follow?"

"Yes."

Tony didn't say anything. He had turned his attention back to mixing a highball, uninterested in being lectured about something he already knew plenty about. That was the problem with Tony; he didn't like listening to people explain things that he was already familiar with. It made him a lousy conversationalist.

"Well, Steven, when something scary or bad happens to a person, it can leave them very distressed for a few weeks. That's normal. But sometimes, there are certain people who have been through so much of that bad and scary stuff, it bothers them for a very long time." She spoke slowly, as if she were speaking to a child. Steve didn't seem to mind; he just sat opposite her and nodded in understandability. "Those people have PSTD."

"And so do I… That's where the nightmares are coming from?" Steve asked. He had been staring at his twiddling hands the entire time she'd been speaking.

"_Mr. Stark_," Robin yelled out loudly and suddenly, surprising Tony and causing him to fumble with a glass, accidently spilling soda on the counter-top. "You said Mr. Rogers would sometimes speak in his sleep. Correct?"

"Uh, ye_ah_." Tony grabbed a dishtowel and began wiping up the new mess.

"What does he say?" The obvious question followed.

"Uh… well you see," Tony had continued making his drink as if the spill hadn't happened. "It's nothing too _clear_. Although the other night, he started talking about it being cold. I didn't know if that was a coincidence or…"

When Tony didn't conclude his sentence, the room held silence that left only when Robin finally turned to Steve and said, "Now, Mr. Rogers, it's common knowledge that not only did you serve in the military during World War II, but that you were also frozen for about seventy years. Am I wrong?"

"No…" Steve spoke very quietly. He was very well aware that most people had been informed of his discovery in 2011, but the topic still left a stinging sensation in his chest. "You'd be right."

"Well, I'll have you know what it's very common for people who served in war to have PTSD." She gave a sort of sympathetic smile, and then opened a black notebook of some sort. "Would you mind if I asked you some questions?"

"No, not at all," Steve said. "But first, can I ask you one?"

"Steve, we're not paying her $125 an hour for _you_ to ask _her _questions," Tony called out from behind.

"Of course," Robin answered, ignoring the other man's comment.

"Can this go away? If so, how… and what do I have to do? Is there a pill I can take? Or … surgery… or _something_?"

Robin's face softened, and she ran her tongue along her lip. After taking a deep breath, she said, "There's a lot of ways people get rid of this disorder. Sometimes medication is involved… but for the most part it takes oral therapy sessions. That's what I'm here for. We'll have a little chat and by the end of the day I'll begin figuring out what methods will work best with you, okay?"

"So it'll stop? Eventually?"

"That's what we're hoping for." She smiled, and then looked down at her large black notebook. Pulling out a pen from seemingly nowhere, she said, "How did you feel about the war?"

"I… I don't think fully understand the question," Steve admitted as he began to relax. He figured that if he was going to reveal his innermost thoughts and memories to this woman, he might as well be comfortable.

"Well… I mean, looking back," the doctor flipped a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "Was it what you thought it'd be? Was it fun? Was it painful? Was it all worth it?"

Steve gulped, images of being on the front, running through Nazi-infested terrain, bearing arms, and studying battleground maps leaked into his mind as if a dam had broken open. "It was… hard. I mean, you never knew what to expect."

"Mm-hmm, and tell me, Steve, when did these nightmares start? Do you have recollection of any of them?"

"Uh, they started about two months ago… and uh, about remembering them, that's kind of weird. You see, I can't exactly _remember_ it actually happening, but when I wake up, I know it happened. Like… as if I had seen it happen to someone else, and I'm able to recall bits and fragments. I don't know, I suppose that doesn't make all too much sense. Plus, Tony is always able to tell me if it's happened."

Robin nodded, took a few moments to scribble something down, the which Steve was unable to read from so far away, and then continued, "So… it started two months ago you said? What was happening around that time? Anything that could have provoked it?"

"It happened right around the time he moved in," Tony had chimed in. The other two looked at him blankly, so he awkwardly added, "Sorry. Contributing. Couldn't help myself."

Robin wrote something else down. From what Steve could see, her handwriting was fairly small and neat. Still, everything looked skewed upside-down. "And do you share a bedroom?"

"Y-yes," Steve regained his voice when Tony failed to answer.

"A-huh… Now do these episodes tend to occur more after fornication? Or do they occur more often on nights where you don't?"

"Now wait just a damn minute-" Tony had begun making his way towards where the other two were sitting but stopped when Steve raised a hand at him.

"It happens more often when we _don't_."

Tony gave Steve an uncomfortable look, not exactly full of glee that they were openly discussing their sex-life. He didn't see what copulation had to do with it in the first place. But if this bitch was going to be running up the bill at $1,000 a month, he realized that it probably wasn't his place to argue with her questions.

"So is that the answer then?" Tony hadn't returned to his drink making, but instead stood alone between the two couches. "We just need to have more sex?"

"Mr. Stark," Orwell took the thick rectangular-rimmed glasses off her face and looked at them in her hands. "I'm trying to _help _Steven here. If you'd be so kind as to cooperate instead of making snarky comments on the sidelines, that'd be great."

"Don't forget whose paying you," Tony said over his shoulder as he made his way back from where he'd came.

"Did anything else happen two months ago? Anything _bad_?"

"Not to my recollection." Steve had thought back to the last sixty days, but nothing stood out to him. Nothing so drastically bad that could have brought this horridness from inside of him. In fact, the last two months had been some of the best of his life. It was probably the first time since the experiment where he was actually able to feel relaxed and content. He had fallen in love and found himself a place to call home. He was enlightened about all the US presidents that succeeded Franklin Roosevelt. He discovered the wonders of computers and cell phones, and the horrors of the Cold War and atomic bombs. The last two months had brought him so much knowledge, appreciation, and happiness. There really was no reason for him to be distressed.

* * *

They had talked for two hours, Dr. Orwell finally accepting Tony's offer for a drink, midway through the session. Steve shared most of his life story, describing his childhood, the super-solider project, the propaganda shows, fighting in the war, liberating the four-hundred men, Bucky's death, Peggy, and finally, the plane crash that ended it all.

Tony knew all these stories by heart. Not because the captain had told them himself personally, but because his own father never used to shut up about them. This time, however, it felt like he was listening to a completely new tale. The change in perspective had altered almost every famous bedtime story Tony was used to hearing.

It didn't take Steve very long to tell the doctor all of this. Since he didn't feel too at ease going back to such harrowing memories, he was able to refer to events that, in reality, took weeks but were explained in less than five seconds.

Ms. Orwell would stay silent for the most part, but snuck in a few comments or questions within the storytelling session, in order to make things clearer for analytical purposes. Like Stark, she had been familiar with these tales too. Everyone had known about the famous Captain America. He was a household name, a war icon for the States, and a childhood hero. Even those who didn't read the comic books based on his fictitious adventures or stayed up late to watch the latest newsreels featuring him were still familiar with his name.

Steve had stopped when his story got to the part about waking up in the future. "And after that… well, you know, it's been pretty recent history," he shrugged, as if everything he had just said was no more important than listing off the things he had done before noon.

"Just a heads up, we have about ten minutes left," Robin said, glancing at an expensive-looking watch on her wrist. "But before we start wrapping things up, can I just ask you Steve, out of all the things you just told me… what's one thing- an image or perhaps a sentence someone said, that really _sticks_ in your mind?"

The blond man thought for a few seconds, his mind quickly going over past black and white memories like a scanner, until finally he came up with, "The tesseract."

"Pardon?" She looked up from her notes.

"The tesseract… it's an alien cosmic cube of raw power," said Tony, intervening the session once again.

"Jordan Schmitt… he was using it to power weapons against the Allies," Steve explained, "He was going to use it to launch an aerial attack on America with the missiles that were on the plane I crashed." The captain's blue eyes grew wide, and he wasn't looking at the woman he was speaking to anymore. Instead he seemed to be focused on the corner of the coffee table, but that too held nothing interesting to him. "I'll never forget it… that blinding blue light. I nearly shat myself when I woke up to find S.H.I.E.L.D had had it stolen by Loki. To think… I finally thought I'd rid myself the memory of that thing."

"What was so scary about it?" The doctor asked, still not able to pull Steve's head up in her direction.

"That's the thing…" the ex-soldier's voice crocked. "No one knows."

A repetitive beeping noise went off, which apparently signaled to Dr. Orwell that the session was over. "Same time next week?" She had said while getting up to collect her things. Meanwhile, Tony was reaching for his wallet, running his fingers through slips of green paper in order to find the right amount he owed her.

"That depends." Steve helped grab her purse from the bar. "Do you still think you can help me?"

She smiled, bright red lipstick contrasting a very white face. "I _know_ I can."

She took her purse with a 'thank-you', and was turning around when Steve summed up the courage to say, "Doctor?"

"… Yes? Mr. Rogers?" She hadn't turned around when she answered.

"I just wanted to say… coming from a place and time where only men were considered able to carry on prestigious professions… that I really admire you. And I'm glad times have changed in your favor."

Because he was looking at the back of her head, he couldn't see the small smile and blush her face wore in response to the compliment. "… Thank you, Mr. Rogers."

* * *

When Steve had excused himself to use the restroom, Tony met the doctor at the door, a wad of cash in his hand. "So," he said, handing her the money. "Do you _really _think there's a psychological way of fixing this?"

Putting the few bills in her purse, she calmly remarked, "He has a lot on his plate Mr. Stark. Constant bullying as a child, fighting in _World War II_, for godssake. Witnessing the death of his best friend, the which I think he blames himself for, and attempting suicide only to be _frozen_ for seventy years? Not to mention all that's happened in the last few months with the Avengers. He's a _very_ special case. It's going to take a lot to find what's eating him. As for now, I think I'll prescribe some medication and continue the therapy sessions. It's the best we can do."

"He's not helpless you know." Tony's voice held a tinge of harshness; as if he were _defending_ the man he so constantly fought alongside. "He's the bravest fucking person I know. I'll tell you something, Ms. Orwell, when I was kid, he was my goddamn _hero._"

She remained silent while keeping a locked gaze on the famous philanthropist's brown eyes. "My dad would tell me stories about him when I was kid, okay? I _idolized_ him. He was everything I ever wanted to be when I grew up. But you know what happened, Dr. Orwell? My father died. He died and I was forced to _grow up. _And I'll tell you a little secret; when I first met Steve, I was upset. I didn't want to remember the way I looked up to him in first grade or how I had his picture on my lunchbox. I didn't want to be reminded of the carefree happy days I had before my dad ignored me and died off because it hurt too much. But guess what? He proved to be so much more than just another poster on my bedroom wall. He really _was _a hero. He proved that to me, and I began to remember what it was like to have faith in somebody. Steve Rogers doesn't need help, he's a strong and brave individual."

"Then maybe you should start acting like it." She kept her eyes still firmly placed on Tony's, her voice coming out like broken glass. "Because from what I've seen in these last two hours, he doesn't seem to think you care all that much."

The two bickering adults could hear the faucet running from the hall bathroom. It'd only be a matter of seconds before Steve came back to the room.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder isn't an easy thing to go through. He's going to need someone to stick with him throughout everything. If you really love him, you're going to have to be that someone. Because drugs and techniques are temporary, Mr. Stark, but _you_ have to be permanent."

And then she left.

She didn't say goodbye, or wait for Steve come back in order to wave a farewell. She just walked out, and didn't look back as her high-heeled shoes click-clacked the entire way down.

"Did Robin leave?" Tony heard Steve's voice ask before his body appeared out of the darkness of the hallway.

"Huh? Uh, oh, yeah. So you like her?" He casually sat down on the couch, sore from listening in whilst propped painfully on a barstool for the last two hours.

"A little too fifth-avenue, but she's nice," Steve yawned as he joined his partner, feeling a hand wrap around his shoulder as he settled into the furniture's soft fabric. "She reminded me of Peggy."

"… Is that a good thing?" The statement made Tony slightly envious. He knew that he wasn't the first person the captain had loved, but it still hurt to know there were others who'd placed their lips on the same ones he had recently. Although, he really wasn't one to complain. He had a much longer string of past romances to look back regrettably on.

"I don't know," Steve placed a hand on Tony's knee, giving it a squeeze while gently massaging his leg. "She just kind of looks like her… that's all."

"Do you miss Peggy?" Tony looked into his best friend's blue eyes, as if he were trying to find something behind them. "I mean… did you two ever…" he smirked to himself, and remembering the story his dad used to tell concluded, "fondue?"

"… Huh? Oh, God no," Steve chuckled with embarrassment when he realized what Tony had been referencing. Then, in seriousness, he stretched, turning so that he could place a hand on Tony's cheek. "We were never a couple so-to-speak. And I think she was more interested in me than I was in her. I mean don't get me wrong, she was a stunning woman, but with the war and everything going on, I never really focused on romance. Although, she _was_ special, and I'll admit, she was the first person I ever had feelings for."

"But you do _miss_ her?" Their faces were extremely close, noses touched cheeks and eyes began to close.

"Of course I miss her. But I miss her just like I miss everyone else. Peggy… Bucky… Howard…"

"Hey, can we, like, not talk about my dad right now?" Tony spoke up, right before he felt the other man's soft dry lips press onto his.

"Sorry," Steve chuckled without completely parting mouths. What was intended on being been a romantic peck turned into something a little more intimate, as tongues brushed over closed lips and teeth.

Tony couldn't fully enjoy the amorous session, because in the back of his head he kept hearing the doctor's word replay over and over again.

_"He doesn't seem to think you care all that much."_

"_He's going to need someone to stick with him throughout everything. If you really love him, you're going to have to be that someone."_

"_You have to be permanent." _


	3. I Remembered

"Who was the first man to set foot on the moon?"

"Uh-wha?" Steve turned over on the unnecessarily large and luxurious bed he and Tony called their own. Unable to sleep, he had found himself constantly fighting to stay awake. He would lie down a lot, as if to take a nap, but never actually ended up closing his eyes. Instead, he'd usually just daydream or find himself deep in thought. Nothing of importance coming to mind, yet it still occupied his time.

"I _said_," Tony swiveled the wheeled chair in front of the desk he had been sitting on in order to face the barely conscious beauty. "Who was the first man on the moon?"

Realizing Tony was interrupting his fantasies only to test him on modern trivia, Steve rolled back onto his stomach, uninterested. "Not now, Tony."

"Come on you should know this-"

"I know it, but I don't _care." _

"If you _know_ it just answer the question…" Tony mumbled under his breath, looking at the Iron Man gauntlet he was tightening onto his right wrist with a screwdriver.

"Shut, the fuck, up." Steve was exhausted. His eyes were heavy, and he had absolutely no energy, patience, or motivation to accomplish anything. He couldn't even move muscles and limbs, for they felt like lead on top of the bedspread. He just wanted to rest. "Why do you always have to annoy me when I'm trying to get some peace and quiet? I don't give a good goddamn about your stupid '21st Century' triva games."

"Goddammit," Tony muttered, slamming his metal-clad arm onto the desktop. "Just stop with the _whin_ing. I never whined. You know why?"

Steve didn't respond. He was too exhausted to respond. The last few weeks in therapy had been hell on both him _and _Tony.

"I said do you have any idea what the _hell_ my father would do to me if I ever showed attitude?" He didn't realize how drastically he'd skewed the subject. When Tony spoke like this, it didn't hold a threat. He wasn't trying to intimidate Steve by any means… he was only trying to prove a point, as if to purposely sway the topic from Steve ignoring him to his own relationship with his dad.

"No. No for Chrissake, I _don't_." Steve rubbed his hands over his tired face. Rubbing the heels of his palm against the sensitive eyelids so hard that he began to see patterns of lights and stars behind his closed eyes.

Tony stood up, advancing towards the right side of the bed (which was usually Steve's spot, but he had been occupying Tony's side at the given moment). "Look, Aurora, I'm just saying, you're damn lucky to have someone love you in a time of need like this."

"Don't give me that." Steve had worked up enough strength to roll over in order to face Tony, who was now next to him on the bed. "Don't play the sympathetic 'daddy never loved me' card. I _knew_ your father and he was a good man. A little rough around the edges but was my friend, and so are you. And although it was way before you were born, from knowing his character, I highly doubt he didn't love you."

"Now, I never said he didn't love me-"

"Really? Because the way you implied it _really_ could've fooled me."

Tony looked back at the sarcastic eyes. What had they become? He had devoted his time and effort into helping Steve, just like Robin had instructed… but things hadn't been going over so easily in the last month, and it was getting harder and harder to keep this promise.

Steve's prescribed medication had nearly made him a completely different person. He was cranky, anxious, and constantly tired. Fighting and bickering was becoming more and more relevant, as the number of days since they first met the psychiatrist grew.

Tony tried to stay patient. He did everything in his will to keep Steve happy. But as the number of tests and psychological activities went on, the harder it was to cope.

Week one: Observation. Detecting the fear. Rorschach tests and "When I say a word, I want you to tell me the first word that comes to your mind" psychoanalyzing activates.

Week two: Forming a hypothesis. What made Steve tick? What was the 'trigger' (so Robin called it) that sparked these devilish dreams? Fear of war perhaps? Fear of flying? Or maybe certain sleeping factors influenced it.

Week three: Testing the hypothesis. Sending Steve on a one-hour flight with Tony in one of Stark Industries' private jets. Steve, of course, was a panicking mess the entire time, but Tony still held his hand for the sixty minutes. They showed him World War II movies, hoping to spark some sort of reaction. But Steve just shrugged them all away, finding ways to deem them all either 'inaccurate' or 'unrealistic'.

Week four: Or 'The week of fucked up sleeping' as Tony would put it. Between the therapist's consent and Tony's technology, they practically _monitored_ Steve's brainwaves in every single possible scenario. At night, during the day, when it was light, when it was dark, with Tony, without Tony, after sex, not after sex, spooning, no spooning. They did each three times. The whole thing was tedious and tiresome and, despite how often they were forced to sleep for researching purposes, it seemed they were always lacking rest.

"I told Robin about it," Steve rolled off his tongue as if he were drifting off, eyes barely open. "About you and your dad."

Although Tony wasn't technically _happy _about the news, he didn't lose his temper or show a sense of anger. "… Why?"

"Because," Steve said having rolled back onto his backside, eyes now completely shut." I'm not the only one who needs help around here."

Tony let out a long exhalation. Steve's words absorbed into him, like a sponge. Taking in the information quickly, but needing a moment to process it. Eventually, he just placed a loving hand on Steve's shoulder. You'd think the poor guy would be sick of sleeping, after hibernating for seventy years…

Now, of course, it was the only thing either of them ever thought about. When they'd be blessed with a good nights sleep again. The days Steve didn't wake up with his heart nearly beating out of his ribcage became treats. It was rare, but they were treasured. Soon, they each forgot what it had been like to be able to rest easily at night. Worrying about whether or not a panic attack would be in the near future became a part of their regular nightly routine.

"Neil Armstrong," Steve let out in a soft, quiet, sleepy voice.

"What's that?" Tony hoped for a repeat, having not heard the drowsy voice the first time.

"Neil Armstrong." Steve's blue eyes slightly creaked open again, shifting slightly to look at the man next to him. "The first man to walk on the moon. Neil Armstrong."

* * *

3:02 AM. Tony couldn't sleep. He rarely did to begin with. So many years he practiced a tolerance to such early hours by staying awake to work on robotics or drinking coffee. It hadn't been until a few months ago, after Steve always insisted on him staying in bed during the night, that Tony retained a normal sleeping schedule. That, like many other things recently, had been reset as well.

Vengeance fueled his energy. He didn't know what he was angry about… maybe it was Steve, or Robin, or himself. No one could really be at blame for the PSTD. Sure, Steve was the one keeping him awake with the awful screaming and breathing that sounded asthma-induced. Robin was the one pushing all the unnecessary experiments, and prescribing powerful medications left and right. And Tony was the one who couldn't deal with it.

He didn't know what he was building when 3:02 AM hit. He had mostly been fiddling with some surplus scraps of metal he had scraped from the arm he'd been fixing just a few hours earlier.

Either way, he had been sitting as his desk, chest-piece slightly illuminating the entire room with a light blue hue, when he heard the familiar voice call his voice behind him.

It was a yell or a cry or a shudder. It was simply, "Tony…?" As if Steve had just woken up, his voice tired and slightly confused to its surroundings.

"Steve?" Tony perked up, not expecting to be spoken to as this hour. "Steve are you… are you _awake_?"

"Tony…" Steve moaned again, his eyes were open wide, blinking, and looking straight at him.

Understanding this was a 'come here' statement; Tony obeyed, and left his screwdriver and bolts to sit on top of the bed, facing his fellow Avenger.

"Steve," he repeated as his weight caused an incline of the mattress. He picked on his feet, sitting his entire body on the top of the blanket, and placed two hands delicately on the captain's. "Are you _awake_?"

Steve had been looking past Tony, but when confronted by the question, he turned towards him, and nodded, still as if in a daze. His mind was somewhere else.

. There was a glistening streak of water left on his cheek, but besides that, he seemed strangely calm.

"… Sweetheart? Baby, what's wrong?" Tony used these comforting words when he noticed how fearful and distraught the other man looked. Granted, words like 'sweetheart' and 'baby' rarely passed his lips, but in a moment of panic he had selected them conveniently out of seemingly nowhere.

Steve opened his dry mouth, the voice coming out silently at first, but augmented in volume after cracking. His eyes remained wide open, and his pupils shifted to look into Tony's. "I remembered it."

* * *

"_So, _I've looked over the tests. I've done my research. And I have some good news and some bad news." It was time for Robin's weekly visit, and she pacing, strolling back and forth in the same living room she had met the couple in. Only this time, a month later, she was standing tall walking back and forth along the hardwood floors, a finger pressed to her lip.

Tony and Steve shared the crouch, each playing with or moving their own fingers in some sort of way. Steve held his hands in a praying position, only pressed against his nose as if in thought. Tony drummed his fingers along his knee impatiently.

"And…?" Tony said after a long pause proceeded Robin's original statement.

"The bad new is…" she inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if to imply exhaustion. "I have no idea what's triggering your nightmares."

Another pause, this one shorter, for Tony barked in a sarcastic, "_Great._"

"However," Robin began, assumedly to state the good news she had referred to only moments ago.

"No… you know what? Just stop right there," Tony interrupted her, standing up from the couch in the process. "Because, you've been here, what, a month? And you're done Jack-squat for Steve."

"Actually, Mr. Stark, if you'd just let me finish, please? In fact, I'd like to talk to you in private after my session with Mr. Rogers today, if you don't mind."

"Why the hell should I?" Tony shrugged, placing his hands in his jean pockets. "Last time I checked, Ms. Orwell, I wasn't paying you $250, a week for you to talk to _me_."

"Tony," Steve broke in, lifting a hand as to single his turn of speaking. "Money… isn't an object, here."

"Look, I'm just saying, if Little Miss Tight Black Skirt With A Suit here would do her damn _job _we wouldn't be in this fucking mess."

"_Tony_…" Steve tried to interrupt again, but his attempt failed.

"Which brings me to another point, why the hell haven't we been trying to find ways of _stopping_ this? All you ever seem concerned about is what's causing it-"

"Well if we can find the cause of it we can figure out how to stop it," the doctor had raised her voice now too, and Steve was caught in between the two arguers.

"You've done your stupid tests and therapy sessions, you've made poor Steve here, go through hell and back, what with all the meds he's been on and making him go up in that damn plane. You really have some nerve coming in here and telling us all what to d-"

"_Anthony!" _Steve yelled loudly, stopping both Tony and Robin to stop dead in the tracks.

Tony remained silent. No friend _ever_ referred to him as 'Anthony'. For Tony, it was the name parents used when they scolded their kid. It was the name teacher's asked during roll call on the first day of school. It was the name on your driver's license. But it certainly, under any circumstances, was the name your lover called you, unless they were seething with anger and viciousness. And Steve might as well have been.

"I want to listen to what she has to say," he spoke again, this time softer.

An awkward silence had pierced the air once again, until Robin cleared her throat and continued where she left off as if nothing had happened. "Well," she said, pulling out a sheet of paper with handwritten notes scribbled around the corners from her suitcase. "It's quite obvious what_ factors_ affect your dreaming state. What's strange about it though… is that they don't add up."

Shock turned to curiosity, Tony rubbered his neck behind Ms. Orwell, scanning the paper she held from over her shoulder.

"For instance," she shifted her eyes to look at the man behind her. "Steve sleeps better _alone_ than when you're in the room… but that's only if you're not touching him. See, after coitus and/or spooning, Steve's brainwave patterns and heart rate remain normal."

"When are they the worst?" Steve asked, still from his seat on the couch.

"The _worst_," Robin began, furiously scanning over the paper in front of her for the information she desired. "The worst is when Tony is _next _to you, but doesn't display affection and/or touch you."

"So, he's best when I'm there and worst when I'm there?" Tony asked, scratching at his stubble. "What's killing him his what's keeping him alive…" He chuckled and then added, "I'm way too familiar with that concept."

"Ms. Orwell," Steve said, his tone suggesting he was going to be changing the topic. She looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "I had the dream again last night… only this time, I remembered what I dreamed about."

Interested and surprised, Robin cautiously moved to sit down next to Steve on the couch. Tony remained standing, but turned his attention towards the speaker. "Would you care to share?" She whispered.

Steve nodded. "I-I was in the airplane," he began. He diverted his eyes from both Robin and Tony, only looking at one of them once in awhile for a mere second each. "I was in the plane and, I could feel myself dropping in the dream. Like, my stomach felt strange from the descent. And I was _really_ cold. So I'm flying the plane and I'm feeling really cold and then I hear someone from behind me say 'Cap, why is it so hot?'. So I turn around, and Peggy, Tony, and Bucky are there. All standing in a line behind me. And they're all there asking, 'Captain. Why is it so hot?'"

He licked his lips and inhaled, taking a second to remember and finish the story. "And I don't know what to tell them because I want them to be happy but I'm freezing cold… so I told them 'Guys, it's really cold and I'm trying to land this plane, I don't know how to help'. So I turned back to the window, to look where I was going, and when I looked back… Tony," he had paused again, his voice slightly quivering, as if he didn't want to continue, "was gone. And… in his place… was the Tesseract."

The two pairs of brown eyes were locked on his. They didn't say anything out of both respect and wish to not interrupt.

"And… All I remember was that they were all falling, like they were melting into the floor. And they were going to fall out of the plane. And I needed to catch them, but I needed to fly the plane. And I didn't know what to do and that got me all worked up and upset and… and then I woke up."

Then the room was quiet. All three seemed to ignore the ambient New York City noises coming from outside, and the humming appliances coming from the open kitchenette, and the sound of breathing from the three adults. Steve was reflecting, Robin was analyzing, and Tony was heartbroken.

"So," Robin broke the silence harshly. "I suppose we've narrowed this down. Now, it obviously has something to do with Tony. And your nightmare suggests tha-" She stopped mid-sentence, and her eyes went wide, as if she were subjected by some form of an epiphany.

Quickly she turned around. "Tony," she instructed, "Take off your shirt!"

Tony and Steve looked at each other in shock. "Uh, okay… but just so you know, if I get sued for breaking the patient-doctor confidentially-"

"Just take it off!" She said again, this time stricter.

Tony did as he was told, and raised the black Rolling Stones T-shirt off his body. The arc reactor was exposed, placed neatly in the center of his chest, radiating a faint light unnoticeably considering the bright daylight that shown in through the large glass windows.

Robin nodded. "I think we've got ourselves an answer."

Tony and Steve looked at one and other again, only this time with confusion. Catching on, Robin exclaimed, "Oh come on! Don't tell me you don't see it." The men remained silent.

"What… my chest?" Tony finally broke in. He was a genius, and yet even he wasn't grasping whatever concept the therapist had thrown at them.

Robin turned back to Steve who still sat beside her. "Steven," she said. "Explain to me again, in detail, what the Tesseract is. What does it look like?"

"It's… uh, a cube," Steve said, unsure of what else to say. "It's a cube of energy that emits a…"

Robin raised her eyebrows, egging him to continue. Steve had finally seen where she was going with this, and quietly finished his sentence.

"a radiant blue light..."


	4. I'm Permanent

"It's the arc reactor?" Tony said, disbelief in the eyes that traveled furiously back and forth between the captain and the doctor. "You really think a magnet in my chest is the cause for all of this?"

"It would make sense," Ms. Orwell shrugged. "I mean, what's the one thing Steve keeps seeing? Keeps picturing? What image is burned into his mind so deeply? The Tesseract. And what does he associate with the Tesseract?" She paused as if to hear an answer, even though her tone of voice did not suggest she was asking for one. "A blue light."

Tony pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and crossed his arms in silent piqué. If he felt sorry, he didn't show it. If anything, he was angry. Angry that all the stress and restlessness was caused by him. All because of the stupid shrapnel in his stupid body near his stupid heart. The damn thing had caused so much trouble already, and now it was only making things worse.

"I'll be in my workshop," he turned to Steve without a hint of emotion. "In case anyone needs me."

* * *

"Mr. Stark?" a woman's voice yelled out over the obnoxiously loud "Shoot to Thrill" by AC/DC being blasted throughout incredibly large speakers at an unnecessarily high volume.  
"Mr. Stark!" she called out again, trying to be heard over the deafening music.

Tony, finally hearing the voice, looked up from whatever project he was working on to see Robin standing across the room, arms crossed.  
"JARVIS, pause it please," Tony said as he lifted a pair of welding goggles from off his eyes onto his forehead.

"Yes sir," the English A.I. replied, followed by a sudden silence.

"That was the best part you know," said Tony, turning his attention back to his work. "You really just kind of threw off my mojo."

"I told you I wanted to speak with you after my session with Mr. Rogers." She awkwardly walked forward, briefcase clasped in both her hands, inspecting the impressive array of digital boards and metallic thing-a-ma-bobs.

"So this is what you do, huh?" Her voice held a tinge of interest as her eyes scanned over a table of scrap pieces. "Lock yourself away in your workshop, blast music, and… tinker?"

"Hey, I happened to make a billion dollar fortune from my 'tinkering'," said Tony, not entirely pleased over the fact his personal space was being rudely broken into by the uninvited guest.

Robin only nodded, slowly waltzing her way closer the man with every quiet moment.

When Tony didn't seem to want to acknowledge her presence, she let out a sigh. "I don't get you, Tony Stark."

Tony looked back up to her, his goggles had returned to his face. He adjusted a bar of some sort on one of the many digital monitors in front of him and replied dryly, "I manufacture robotics. I save people from impending doom. I'm an Avenger. I'm Iron Man. I'm fucking Captain Steve Rogers." He reached for a flat sheet of metal and inspected it through his lenses. "I'm a poster child for success, I've been named 'Sexiest Man Alive' in three different continents, and my expo is the most popular convention on this side of the international dateline. Now… What is it that don't you 'get' about me?"

"Its funny," the doctor shook her head with a smug grin. "You're exactly who they say you are... What a shame."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He finally gave her the attention she had been longing.

"Why are you sleeping with Steve?" She asked instead of answering.

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Tony answered with a question as well, turning his back in order to punch digits into another monitor's database.

"Oh _come on_," Robin huffed, trying to stay close to Tony by tiptoeing behind him whenever he moved around the lab. "You're the famous Tony Stark. You've always portrayed yourself as this… womanizing hotshot. I mean look at you! You wear designer suits that cost more than most people's houses… drive million dollar cars… I mean, a few years ago you wouldn't be caught _dead_ without a sexy woman hanging on each of your shoulders."

Tony couldn't decide how to respond, so he let Robin finish before one of the hundred-or-so rude comments buzzing around in his mind escaped his lips.

"You're a sex symbol. You're known for one-night-stands and leaked sex tapes… not for being a domestic loving and supportive boyfriend! That's not _you_ Tony."

"Oh God, I need an Advil," Tony was now sitting in a wheeled chair, rolling himself across the room as he changed the subject while in search for the pills he desired.

"If this is some… sick sort of joke or… stunt, you really need to sort out your priorities and pull yourself together. Because, Mr. Stark, if you're lying… you're _hurting_ Steve-"

"No one's hurting Freedom Fries," Tony's voice overlapped the frantic one of the doctor. "If you really think I don't care about him, you would be both, A) Crazy, and B) Not very good at your job."

Robin licked her lips, a reoccurring habit that Tony had noticed since day one. "You're incredible," she said in the negative sense of the term. "I mean… Steve told me about your issues with your dad, but this is ridiculous-"

Tony stood up after swallowing the two small pink circles he had fished out of them bottom of a drawer. He paused and then said, "Are you implying that I'm having sex with Steve for no other reason than to defy my father?"

"Well… It's kind of obvious." Her widened brown eyes were directed to the side.

Tony put down the glass of water he had used to swallow the pills and stepped closer to the therapist.

"Don't bring my dad into this," he said, taking short pauses between each word for emphasis.

"My God, Tony, stop denying it! Whether it's a subconscious decision or not, it's easy to see that you're only doing this as a way to get back at your father-"

"Bullshit!" Tony hardly ever raised his voice, but he was furious. As if the news about the arc reactor hadn't been enough, now this bitch was coming in and accusing him of taking advantage Steve? It was too much to handle.

Robin just let out an exhausted groan and said, "Look, I _know_ the two of you didn't have the best father-son relationship-"

"No we did not," Tony spoke over her again, loudly and sternly, but slowly without yelling. "You're right. I did not have the best of relations with Howard… but if you tell me that you think I'd lead Steve on, just because I knew he was my father's most prideful accomplishment, then you might as well just take your briefcase and leave because that is _bull._"

"So why, then?" She shot back at him. "_Why Steve?_"

Tony took a second before answering. He looked somewhat hurt. Throughout his whole life, he couldn't wait until he'd step out of his father's shadow and become his own man. Now he was realizing that day might never even come. People would always blame his actions on his dad's absence as a parent. It would _never end._

"You know what? You're right. I am that type of guy. I may not be one to cuddle in the middle of the night because of my insomnia and hatred of being touched. I don't cook family dinners, and even if I tried, I'd end up burning expired ingredients. And maybe I not the type to get married or have a kid or grow old with." His mouth ran on without thinking. "I don't take things seriously and I'm insensitive. I know. I've heard it all before. And you want to know the truth?"

Robin still had her arms crossed, her head tilted slightly, looking very intense.

"My life was so much easier before I met Steve. Before all of this. I had it so _good._ And now I'm starting to forget what that was like." Tony blinked a few times, his throat started to tighten. "But, you see Orwell, my life may have been _easier…_ but now it's better. After meeting him and living with him, and loving him… my life's been so much _better. _Look, I don't care what it takes anymore. I just want to him to be healed. To be happy... I love him."

Robin adjusted her posture and stood up straight, a small barely noticeable grin on her face that she tried to hit by biting her lower lip. She nodded, and then pulled a cell phone from out of her jacket pocket. "Did you hear that Cap?" She said clearly into the receiver.

"Wait what?" Tony came closer to Robin and grabbed her phone without any hesitation. "Steve? Are you there?"

"I'm beginning to get the hang of this speakerphone thing," came Steve's voice from the cellular device.

"Hold on, you _heard_ all of that?" Tony was slightly embarrassed. Sure, he had _meant_ the things he said, but he said them mostly out of fury and defense. He hadn't even been thinking through his reasoning… he had purely been rambling.

"Loud and clear."

Robin snatched the Smartphone with a look that said, 'I'll be taking _that'_, turned around with a smug smile, and began walking –no… _strutting_- from the way she'd came.

"Woah-woah-woah, hang on just a damn minute. So you didn't mean any of that? All that stuff about my dad and not really being in love with Steve? It was just to provoke me so I'd say all that other stuff?"

"I'm a psychiatrist Tony, I'm good at reading people." Robin turned her head over her left shoulder. "Of course I know you love him. It's obvious."

Tony lunged a few steps forward to catch up with her. "So, why'd you need to me to say it?"

Robin refused to turn around to look at whom she was speaking to. "Because Steve needed to know. And he needed to hear it from _you._"

She clicked her way out of the lab and, as if switching roles, Tony remained close behind her, still trying to process what had happened.

"Well… _okay then._ So now what do we do?" He finally spoke, approaching Stark Tower's elevator that would lift them into the living room where Steve must have been listening.

"What do you mean?" Robin turned a heel before calling the elevator.

"Um, hello? We just found what we've been looking for? It's the light that's bothering him right? So what will be doing about that?" Tony shifted his weight while placing both hands on his hips, a hint of hopefulness under his breath.

"Well, he very well can't sleep when the light that's bothering him is illuminating the room, now can he?" Robin's sarcastic wit was really starting to get on Tony nerves. She turned around again to press the small button next to the shaft, which lit up in response to the applied pressure of her finger. "I'd say he's going to have to sleep in a very dark room by himself for the next few weeks… until I can find a way to clear his mind of the fear."

The doors opened with a _ding! _and Robin had begun taking a step into the small lift when Tony's hand firmly gripped her shoulder.

She turned her head to see his eyebrows raised over a serious expression. "You mean… you mean he's going to have to sleep in a different room? As in: without me?"

"Uh… yeah." Robin tried to take that step forward again, but, much like the first time, was stopped by Tony.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I don't like that."

Having given up on trying to reach the elevator, Robin adjusted the strap of her purse and turned fully around to face the defiant man. "Didn't you _just _say something along the lines of being willing to do _anything_ to help Steve?"

Tony's eyes kept focus on hers, but his mind was moving a thousand miles a minute trying to trace back the rant he'd given in the lab only moments prior.

"If you love him as much as you keep saying you do, you have to learn to be selfless."

"Then what was all that crap before about needing to _be_ _with_ him? I promised you that I would stay by his side. I'm not going to just-"

"Well that was before realizing it was the arc reactor-"

"The fuck with the arc reactor!" They both heard the elevator doors close between silent tensions. "What about me? Huh? Do you ever even think about how this is affecting me too?"

"For god sake, for _once _can you stop thinking about yourself?"

"Thinking about _myself_? I'm sorry, have we been dealing with _my problems _and_ me_ the last four weeks? Nope. Nuh-uh. Must've missed that part. Oh, but you know, maybe you should check your banking account. Under the last thousand dollars in checks made out by a Mister_ Steven Rogers_."

Robin tried to say something… something between 'you're impossible' and 'you're a total ass', but she felt exhausted and unable to deal with a grown man's temper tantrum.

"I need him too, you know!" Tony called out while Robin resorted to calling the elevator again.

"You think he's the only one that has it bad at night? The only reason I've kept so collected is because he's always been by my side. He wasn't the only one getting nightmares, Sweet Cheeks."

Robin entered the elevator when the doors opened for a second time, and Tony promptly followed her in, not skipping a beat. "Mine _stopped_, because I had my arm around him at night. I had someone to keep close and hold onto," he said in the same breath.

"Mr. Stark. As humble and inspiring as your devotion to Steven is, I really can't see any other way of solving this. He needs time to _recover_. Even if it isn't ideal to your sex life."

"It's not just about sex!" Tony clapped the backside of his right hand to his left palm as he said each word. "What's going to happen to me if I can't have him there?"

"Well it's hardly like he's going to be _moving out_." The elevators had opened once again after the short ride up. "He'll just be in a different room or something."

"Yeah, but-" Tony forgot what he was going to say after seeing Steve occupying the living room couch, as if he hadn't just eavesdropping on Tony venting his innermost and personal feelings. "_You _are a spying whore," said the brunette, pointing a finger accusingly at the him.

Steve gave a funny grin and a shrug, but didn't deny hearing what he'd overheard.

"You know people used to get killed for spying? They'd do things like tie they're limbs to horses and send them off in different directions." Tony threw a look of playful disappointment.

"You don't have to tell a World War II solider about the punishment of spying, Stark." Steve sniggered, but his eyes looked almost empty. Tony could easily assume that blond man was aware of the plan Robin had stirred up.

"Give it a month, and we'll see how it goes. Until then, call me if there's any problems." Robin looked directly at Steve when she spoke. Since she was always paid before the session began and didn't have any point of staying longer, she left with short and an informal goodbye.

"So," Tony exhaled loudly once she'd left. "Whataya wanna do for dinner? I was sort of in the mood for Thai, but then I remembered this great pizza place JARVIS had-" he stopped midsentence when Steve's smitten eyes distracted him. "W-what's that face why are you looking at me like that?"

"You love me Tony Stark." He sounded that of a taunting child, smug grin on his face as he stretched his body out over the couch.

Tony muttered something about Steve being a prick as he walked toward him, taking his time and watching the blond who looked absolutely stunning in this light by the way. He sighed as he sat down, resting a hand comfortably on the other man's waist.

"Will you think you're all alone? When I'm not there to hold your hand?"

Steve took hold of the fingersthem on his waist and stroked it. He lethargically sat up, and kissed Tony's cheek, the facial hair feeling scratchy on his tongue.

"I should ask the same," he whispered softly.

"I can't spend the night without you. Not for a whole goddamn month, no sir." He cupped a hand on the back of Steve's neck, and began stroking his fingers through the neatly combed hair. "It just won't do."

"Hey, come now," Steve's chuckle had a sad ring to it. "It'll only be a few weeks. Things'll _finally_ begin to sort out."

"No. Steve," Tony said seriously, and opened his love struck eyes widely towards the blues one of his lover. "It's not that… it's _me_."

Steve slightly pulled away. "Afghanistan..." He didn't need to ask or assume. He understood that Tony had gone through just as much as he had, and probably suffered from the occasional night terror now and again as well.

"Ironic. You're nightmares began where mine ended." Tony smiled and pressed his forehead against the captain's. "I swear I could have my way with you right now."

Steve just let out an exhausted excuse for a laugh and kissed Tony. "Slow down Stark," he said after a long moment of scuffling lips.

"Slow down? Sweetheart, if I'm not getting _this_ for a month we might as well be snails on a tortoise."

"Oh stop. It won't be like that." Steve's lips were touching Tony's ear as he spoke these words almost inaudibly. "Besides. You never sleep anyway. How much of a difference would there be anyway?"

"Um, a ton? I like watching you sleep."

"Dear God, you sound like Coulson."

"Seriously! There's just something about your presence. I mean, even if I'm tinkering with stuff at the desk or looking up at the ceiling. It's just nice knowing you're there."

"Well the good news is," Steve nuzzled his nose into Tony's neck. "This'll all be over soon. Robin said she'll just have to work with me for a couple weeks to 'free my mind' or something like that. Then we can go back to sleeping in the same room. We just have to 'train my subconscious so the light won't disturb me."

"Less talking," Tony whined, running a hand under the captain's blue sweater. "God, a whole month" he kept muttering under his breath and Steve's soft lips.

"It's not _that _long. Let us not forget, I went ninety years without sex. A month is _nothing_."

"A month is _torture_," Tony dramatically threw his head back as he grasped Steve's shoulders tightly, rubbing his thumbs along his collarbone and neck with vigorousness.

"Oh my God, we're _not_ having _sex_ on the _couch_, Tony." Steve said with a voice like that of a higher authority.

Tony protested by biting the blond's lower lip and stroking a thumb along his jaw line, already aroused to a point of needing satisfaction.

"Anthony."

"Okay. Fine. Fine. _Not the couch_. How about the floor? Or counter? I mean, it's a pretty big place I'm sure we can find lots of-"

"We need to spend more time _away_ from each other… Orwell said so," Steve adjusted his unkempt shirt so that it fully covered his abdomen once again.

"If Orwell told you to ride a unicycle off a cliff, would you?" Tony played, raising an eyebrow while still trying to make advances.

"Why can't you just wait until later? When we're about to go to bed? Then afterwards, I'll can just leave and go to the guest bedroom," Steve proposed.

"Wouldn't work. You know you're a post-coital sleeper. You get all… loopy and stupid," Tony smirked.

"Then we'll do it in the guest bedroom and _you_ can leave." Although Steve was annoyed by Tony's persistence, he couldn't help but feel a bit flattered. It _was_ sweet… in it's own sexually deviant sort of way.

"A-huh, and you really expect me to _leave_ you? Impossible." Tony voices dropped in its frisky lightheartedness and suddenly became very sincere. He looked at Steve's light blue eyes for what felt like ages.

"What were you doing in your lab?" Steve asked, suddenly changing the subject after what Tony may as well have considered hours.

"Wha-uh-oh … nothing. Nothing important," Tony shifted his eyes downward; directing them toward a stack of coffee-table magazines whose issues hadn't been recent since 2008.

"Really? Because you were playing that… ABCD band you like. You never play music that loud unless you're really focused on something," Steve reclined, scratching at his chin as his body sank into the compressible pillows.

"A_C_/_D_C, keep up Forties," Tony corrected. "And uh… yeah, I guess I was _focused_. It was, really, nothing though."

"Aw, tell me!" Steve clasped a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Even if it _is_ a bunch of… 'science-y stuff' I don't understand. I still like hearing you talk about what you do."

Tony sighed, unsure of how he could get out of saying 'no' to that. "Well, if you _must_ know," he relieved an itch on his stubbled neck. "I was trying to make a-uh… capsule sort of thing. Like a cover… for the arc reactor. That way the light would be concealed. But it wasn't working out so well. See, the capsule wasn't able to completely block out all space because the unevenness of my chest… not to mention it wasn't very comfortable. But I'm going to try again, hope-"

He was interrupted mid-sentence, a pair of supple lips crashing into his before he could finish his train of thought. He didn't complain though. He was surprised_,_ but after taking note of Steve's brawny and warm arms tightening around his torso, he felt like melting. Melting into Steve, the cushions, the floor, _anything_. Steve on the other hand had been overwhelmed by passion. The wonderful and fulfilling feeling of Tony's love and consideration charged his desire. After recovering from the initial shock, Tony began to return this aspiration and sense of lust. Suddenly their surrounding had become a blur around closing eyes, gripping fingers, and lifting chests.

"Actually…" Steve murmured, hardly but narrowly separating his top lip from Tony's bottom. "The couch doesn't seem like such a bad idea after all."

_The End._


	5. Epilogue

**Author's Note: **I didn't plan on writing this, but by popular demand, I realized an epilogue would be a nice way to tie all loose ends together and finish the story. I decided to write it in present tense as both a challenge for myself (who hates reading/writing in present tense) and to contrast this chapter with the others. I suppose it makes it seem more... current? Anyway, thank you so much for all the positive feedback, favorites, and reviews I've received. I appreciate every single one of them and smile like an idiot in front of my computer/phone whenever I get a new alert telling me when someone has done so.

Also, I thought I'd mention that I'll be writing a short one-shot Superfamily fic soon as well, in case you want to be tuned in for that or something.

Again, thank you all _so much_. I wasn't too proud of this story, but the response it got really made the whole thing worth writing.

* * *

**Epilogue: **

"Wait, _how long_ does it take for water to boil, exactly?" Tony is standing in front of the stove; oven mitts and apron on as if preparing for his food to either explode or come alive and attack.

"About ten minutes," Steve says, sneaking in a hug from behind as he rests a head on Tony's shoulder. He turns so that his lips touch Tony's jaw line and whispers, "but it takes longer if you're watching it."

"It's taking forever already!" Tony complains, watching in disappointment as a small bubble finds it way to the circumference of the pot, and then disappears. "Look, all I'm saying; one zap of the proton laser I got downstairs and it'd be done _right now._"

"Hey," Steve snaps from the other side of the room. He's stirring a wooden spoon in a saucer of marinara and assorted herbs. "You're the one that asked if you could help me cook dinner."

"What's cooking!" Tony complains. "All I've been doing is _waiting_."

Steve chuckles, not complete aware of why he considered Tony's pouting and whining so humorous. It'd been exactly one month since Robin issued the instructions of sleeping in separate bedrooms, and now, four weeks later, she'd given here consent and suggested trying the 'couple' way of life once more.  
If you'd asked Tony how the last four Thursdays had been, he'd reply will 'hellish' or 'a pain in the ass', but in reality, he felt the forced separation was somewhat of an improvement.

He had begun to appreciate Steve's company more, and tried doing little things to make him happy instead of impressing him with obscure sexual advances and acts. Everything seemed to be… more domestic. And whether or not Tony admitted it to being his 'style', we was beginning to like the way 'sweetie' and 'honey' sounded in his tongue.

It was finally time to return things to the way they were. Steve would be moving his pillow and toothbrush from out of the guest room and back into Tony's room that night. The pasta they were currently preparing had been a notion of celebration, seeing as Steve's spaghetti was - as quoted by Tony - "One of the best damn things I ever tasted in my life, and I come from a stereotypical Italian family with a cooking mother."

It was practically a feat to have gotten by without a single night together. Granted, they did have a few 'casual living room fucks', as Tony would say, now and again… but for the most part they had kept their physical distance pretty far apart.

"Hun, where's the oregano?" Tony hears Steve ask, his blond head of hair hidden behind open pantry door.

"Do you honestly think that's something I'd know?" The brunette jokes, slightly unsure of what oregano even was. "Ask JARVIS, he'll know."

Tony smiles to himself while Steve does what Tony suggests. 'Hun…' he repeats in his head. He was really starting to warm up to the whole 'family lifestyle'. Still, he couldn't help himself constantly checking the time on the oven's clock, yearning for it to get later. It wasn't sex he was so much excited for, rather that feeling of having an arm around him. The comforting fact that there was someone warm and pleasant, breathing peacefully in the dark next to him.

He missed him. He'd missed him to hell, and still does. He misses the way the bed sheets rustled under their bodies. He misses the way they kissed so passionately just as they woke up, giving them the illusion of being in a dream. He misses the way Steve hums in his sleep, the way Steve complained when Tony drooled on the pillow, and the way Steve would fall asleep with his hand resting on the inside of Tony's thigh.

Because whether they were wrestling tongues or simply intertwining fingers, Tony just couldn't wait to have Steve by his side again.

Although he wasn't very fond of the feeling, and would rather have his torso bare, Tony had been wearing dark thick T-shirts to bed each night in preparation for when Steve returned. They dimmed the arc reactor's light significantly, but not completely. Work on the capsule had been put on hold since Tony had received a nasty breakout on his chest as a reaction to the malleable metal he'd been testing. Steve had told him to a break, and so the project was put on hold.

Steve, meanwhile, had been seeing Ms. Orwell for two hours every 3:00 on Thursday afternoons. Many new methods were tested (hypnosis, pills that endured a _very_ deep sleep, the normal doctor/patience conversations, etc.) and they seemed to have a remarkable amount of improvement. He hadn't had any bad dreams or night terrors in the last thirty days. Whether or not those fears would return was the main concern.

In contrast, Tony hadn't exactly been having the most peaceful of nights over this same time span. He'd wake up, drenched in sweat, as if he'd been shocked awake with a huge kick. _His_ nightmares weren't nearly as bad or harmful as Steve's had been, but they sure as hell kept him up. Most nights after being frightened awake, he'd simply just pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, get out of bed, and make himself a cup of coffee. This night would finally be different.

"Can you toss the salad, dear?" Steve says, handing Tony a bowl with two large spoons.

He doesn't say 'yes', but Tony gladly takes the salad into his possession and begins tossing.  
"So," Tony croons, keeping a sideways glance on the water that still hasn't begun bubbling. "How'd your session with Robin go today?"

"Fine." Steve returns to stirring the pot of sauce. "We talked about you."

"Me?" Tony asks, a little surprised and nervous. His self-consciousness isn't very pleased by this news. "What'd you say?" He sums up the courage to ask after clearing his throat.

"Oh… you know. Just about how you were supportive of my decisions through this whole thing. How you kept telling me it was eventually going to change. Just your optimism and what not."

'Optimism?' Tony wants to laugh at the irony. Was this 'optimistic' man the same person who worried day and night, arguing with himself over whether he was doing the right thing or not? The same man who - if not for his atheism - would have prayed to God, begging for him to take Steve's place? The same person who stayed up past two in the morning, conflicted over the fact that he was crying?

Surely not. There was nothing brave or optimistic about Tony Stark. Whether or not he showed Steve this was a different story.

"So I'm optimistic am I?" He says out loud instead, still trying to figure out the best way to evenly disrupt a cup's worth of vinegar over a bowl of lettuce.

"I'd say so," Steve shrugs. He sticks a finger in the warm pot he'd been tending to so carefully, and takes a taste from the sauce. "Need's more salt," he says to himself.

"W-what else did you talk about?" Tony asks, just now realizing there was a whole world of conversations he's been missing out on that may or may not be concerning him.

"_Um_," Steve hums, not once making eye contact with Tony as he engages in this question and answer session. He's scanning the pantries and cupboards instead. "We… talked about… what I want to do with my future," he says once he successfully finds the saltshaker, although his tone sounds more like a question than a statement.

"Oh?" Tony perks up in interest. "And what exactly does your future have in store for you?"

Steve doesn't answer right away. The room is silent aside from the hissing of the stove's fire and the grinding of pepper over the pot of sauce. "I guess," Steve puts down the seasoning and moves behind Tony, placing a soft touch around his waist from the side. "I see it with you."

Tony's throat instantly goes dry, and his entire upper body gets a chill from Steve's touch. Without any hesitation, he grabs Steve by the fabric of his shirt, and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Steve can't help but smile against Tony's lips; the feeling of everything in life being perfect for once overwhelms him. Tony's too caught up in trying to prove his appreciation and love to notice. His eyes are shut tight, and he runs his hands under the captain's shirt along his spine. He needs to show Steve… show him how much he loves him. He feels as though he physically can't press his mouth against the blond with enough force.

Steve emits a simple sighing moan, puts his hands on Tony's shoulder, and slowly pushes himself away from the bond their lips have formed. "Tony?"

"Mmm?"

"The water's done boiling."

Tony doesn't seem to care.

* * *

The bedroom is dark, as if ink had been poured over every surface in the area. Slight outlines of shapes (such as the desk and nightstand) are visible, but Tony can't tell if he's actually looking at them, or if the images are appearing as result from a tricking memory.

It's a little too warm for contentment… the comforter of the bed is rumpled and messily folded towards the end of the mattress and Tony can feel individual beads of sweat rolling down his arms and thighs.

Steve is taking deep breaths, head directed toward the ceiling. Tony envies him, for the captain is only wearing briefs and must be much cooler than him. Tony wishes he could strip down naked, were it not for the sake of covering the arc reactor.

"JARVIS," Tony barks out, his throat still dry from the immense amount of exercise and grunting he'd just preformed. "Lower the temperature by ten degrees."

"Right away, sir," JARVIS replies, and the two men can hear an immediate shift in the AC system.

Tony rolls over, lying on his side so he faces Steve, who's still looking at the ceiling. "Welcome back," he chuckles.

Steve just giggles furiously. He's always loopy and extremely tired after sex. Tony can't help but inch forward, tracing his tongue lightly over the space between the giddy man's shoulder and neck. "My _god_ are you gorgeous."

Steve just laughs again, and then rolls onto his hip to face Tony. He puts a hand to the bearded cheek and strokes the skin with his thumb. "I love you."

"And I love you. _And_, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were drunk from all the wine we've been having," Tony jokes, even though he's fully aware alcohol has no affect on Steve. "You need to cook more often."

"If I knew _how_ to cook." They're both whispering, even though the only person who could technically hear them was JARVIS, and he technically wasn't a person at all.

"Oh, don't give me that," Tony playfully rolls his eyes, but it's too dark for Steve to see. "You're all sorts of talented when it comes to that artsy stuff. I mean you can draw… you can cook. You're practically Julia Child and Leonardo da Vinci's love child for Chrissakes."

Steve just snickers again. _Boy_ was he exhausted. "I'll make something tomorrow… we'll go to the grocery store…" his voice trails off and he speaks, and he adjusts his position so that he now has an arm wrapped around Tony's torso.

Although he doesn't reveal it, Tony absolutely adores this conversation… the comfortableness and the simplicity of its nature. It relaxes Tony in a way… makes him feel like he's right where he belongs. As if the hold of Steve's arms was shaped just to fit his body.

That's the last thing said before falling asleep. Steve had rested his lips on Tony's forehead, and kept them there as his body became heavy and he had drifted off into a sound slumber. It takes Tony a slightly longer to gather the amount drowsiness required to send him off into doze, but as he does, his body is pressed against Steve's tightly, nose pressed into the bare chest of his lover so strongly that he could only smell and acknowledge Steve when inhaling.

Of course, didn't sleep without moving. They both had a fair share of stirring, and would each occasionally shift their bodies into a different position throughout the night.

However, despite the small movements, hot atmosphere, and the fact that Steve was practically hogging all the blankets…

It was the best sleep either of them had had in years.


End file.
